


Dandelion Wine

by QueenForADay



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, Morning Kisses, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: In the nights he spent curled that bit closer to Geralt, he started to notice something. The Witcher had a thing – rather, he did a thing.The first time it happened, Jaskier blearily swatted at his own face. The skin along his cheek tingled, as if there was a fly resting there, or some hair.That’s when his hand bumped into another’s.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 76
Kudos: 1175





	Dandelion Wine

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone spots any mistakes, just...ignore them lmao 
> 
> Not beta read, we'll die like Witchers.

It doesn’t matter where they are – camped among trees or on the side of the road, or bundled up within tavern walls. Ever since they started sleeping near each other, either within an arm’s reach for those first few tentative nights of not knowing just how to go about it all, or curled up around each other when they finally got the hang of things and how this was supposed to work, it’s something that has just...happened.

Jaskier will never be the first to wake up. Both of them have made their peace with that. He likes his sleep; especially if it’s on a nice tavern mattress with quilted blankets and a Witcher’s arm wrapped around him, staving off the worst of the autumn chill. Even when they’re camping, huddled together around a campfire on the drier nights or bundled inside a tent when it isn’t so dry, Jaskier always finds himself being nudged awake by his bedmate.

It’s a struggle to clamber awake most times. The summer months are well behind them, and although the Northern Kingdoms aren’t known for being exceptionally warm, the summer was still kind to them. Rain hardly touched the ground; but when it did, it was only brief showers that dried up in a matter of minutes. Harvest festivals were being held in most villages and towns they wandered through. A good harvest means good-natured people all too happy to sing along with a bard and pay for his dinner and board. It meant contracts being thrown at the Witcher and their pockets suddenly were lined with coin.

Jaskier slept well in the summer months. They both did. Neither of them had anywhere of major importance to be; so mornings were spent lounging in beds and strolling through towns and markets.

But then the last of the harvest festivals signalled the end of the summer, and Geralt prickled at the changing winds. He would have to head home.

They kept travelling even as the winds started to bite. When the rains started, staying in inns and taverns became a regular occurrence, and all of the coin that weighed down their pockets started to fade away. But Jaskier thought it worth it. Rooms warmed by a lit hearth, an ample store of wooden blocks stacked by the fire. Bed with quilted blankets and furs lining the bottom. He fell asleep listening to autumn winds whistling through the small gaps in the window, or howling down the chimney to the hearth. He always woke up warm and content and in no mood to step back out into the cold.

In the nights he spent curled that bit closer to Geralt, he started to notice something. The Witcher had a _thing_ – rather, he did a _thing._

The first time it happened, Jaskier blearily swatted at his own face. The skin along his cheek tingled, as if there was a fly resting there, or some hair.

That’s when his hand bumped into another’s.

When he opened his eyes, squinting against the sharp late-morning light streaming into the room, he was met by a _very close_ Geralt; his hand hovering over the side of Jaskier’s face. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Geralt didn’t even move his hand.

Jaskier blinked, his eyes straining. _Gods, he’s tired_. “Were you...touching my face?” he asked, words mostly lost because of how raspy his voice was.

Geralt hummed. “Did I wake you?”

Sleep pulled at him again, trying to drag him back under. If they were going to reach Kaer Morhen before the winds turn, they needed to keep to their plan. And that plan involved getting out of their warm nest of a bed, braving the wet and muddy roads outside on another stretch of their walk back to Geralt’s home.

Even the idea of stepping outside made Jaskier shudder.

Some part of him wanted people to see this; the wolf that they hate so much is nothing more than a lapdog. But this is only for him. And the thought of other eyes intruding on this doesn’t sit right with him at all. He’s never been a jealous sort. If people wanted to move on with their hearts, that was always fine by him. But this is different.

Jaskier made a low sort of sound. Nothing akin to a word really left his lips. As soon as his eyes slipped closed, the touch to his cheek returned. Fingertips ghosted along the expanse of his cheek and the ridge of his cheekbone, slowly moving up towards his temple. The last thing he remembered was those fingers brushing his hair back from his face.

And that just became Geralt’s _thing_.

It’s how Jaskier woke up on most days. If he wasn’t being forcibly dragged out because they really did have to move before the winds chilled rain to snow, Jaskier woke up to gentle brushes against his skin. Sometimes it wasn’t even on his face. Fingers danced along the column of his neck, or carded through his hair. One morning he woke up tucked firmly against Geralt’s front, with the Witcher’s fingers drawing illegible patterns on to the small of his back under his shirt.

Jaskier’s heart ached with how nice it felt. No other person in his life made him feel that way.

For all the talk of destiny and fate that they’ve shared together, he has to wonder if they’re tied together. He knows that Geralt is being pulled in every direction by women holding on to string; he’s attached to a girl and a sorceress. Neither of them he’s been able to shake, no matter how hard he tries. And with the number of times they’ve met up and parted, only to find each other again, Jaskier has to wonder if his own thread is entwined around Geralt’s.

They’re not far from Kaer Morhen. One more day of walking will bring them to the foot of the mountain. It’ll take another half a day to reach the keep. If they want to keep to that plan, they’ll have to leave now. But as Jaskier surfaces, he has to stop himself from sighing contently when he feels the familiar brush of calloused fingers against his temple.

Geralt probably knows that he’s awake – something about his breathing has changed, or his heartbeat has picked up, or a smile constantly threatens to pull at the corners of his lips just because of how _sweet_ it all is. Something will give him away.

But whether the Witcher notices or not, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he cards his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, combing it back from his face.

“We need to go,” Geralt suddenly rumbles. Despite his words, he doesn’t budge.

Jaskier opens his eyes. A familiar sight greets him. “Stop petting me then,” he offers, shuffling forward and burying his nose into the hollow of Geralt’s neck. He feels the Witcher huff a light laugh.

His fingers trail along his shoulder blades; bare from last night. Gods only know where his shirt and breeches are, flung off into some corner in the room. Geralt is in a similar state.

They’ll have a whole winter of this – if the Gods are good.

Jaskier’s heart clenches.

He’ll have a whole life of this. Heat blooms in his chest.

When Geralt does move, Jaskier can’t stop the whine that wrenches out of his throat. Geralt perches on the edge of the bed, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. “As soon as we get to Kaer Morhen, you can keep me in the bed I have there for as long as you like.”

Jaskier regards the man for a moment. A bare expanse of skin is in front of him. Jaskier untangles an arm out of his hoard of blankets to trail his fingertips along the ridge of Geralt’s spine. “Promise?” Jaskier asks. “No brothers of yours are going to barge in if you don’t show up for training, or whatever it is that you do there?”

Geralt hums. He stands up, padding over to a corner of the room to fetch his clothes. “I can’t promise the others will leave us alone,” Geralt says, pulling on his breeches. “I’m sure Vesemir will have found some segment of the wall that needs new mortar.”

Jaskier tries to bury his smile into his blankets when Geralt wanders over to his side of the bed. “But we won’t have to spend hours walking anywhere; we’ll have a lot of spare time.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something to do with it,” Jaskier hums, lifting his chin for a kiss. When the Witcher leans down to catch Jaskier’s lips with his, he huffs a breath against Jaskier’s lips when he feels an arm go around his shoulders, pulling him down. 

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt is a Soft!Man and you literally cannot convince me otherwise. With everything he's been through in his very long life - and still has more shit to go through, RIP Geralt but honey you have several storms coming - and with the Walls he's built around himself, it is hereby Canon according to Me that this poor soul just can't quite believe that Jaskier is with him, in his bed, by his side, totally unguarded because he knows that Geralt won't hurt him. 
> 
> Fight me. 
> 
> One day I'll figure out how to end fics...This is not that day. 
> 
> tumblrs;  
> yourqueenforayear (personal nonsense and terrible humour) || agoodgoddamnshot (writings)
> 
> Kudos & Comments always greatly appreciated x


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